Here’s to the Maxi Pad. The fluffy cloud of comfort that my mother gave to me that first day I stood shocked in the bathroom, I had become a woman. Oh, Maxi, you were there for me when I was still too nervous to try that scary tampon.
You were there for me when I continued to be uncomfortable. You never judged me when I planned beach days around my Flo, since I couldn’t swim with you. Yes, you take up more room in my purse or in my luggage, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. And no, you didn’t get offended those couple times I tried a tampon in a pinch when everyone was going to the pool; in fact you applauded my valiant efforts when I successfully stuck that foreign thing up there.
Yet you are still my period product of choice, and I am not ashamed now. I may have been in high school, when I made sure to covertly keep you in my purse as I snuck you into the bathroom. When I had to very discreetly unwrap you, as to not make too much noise in the stalls when my friends could hear you were indeed a pad, not a tampon. Now, though, I am less worried that people will know.
I am now a proud Maxi Pad user, 23 years old and choosing you. Tampons are great for some, wonderful in fact. But, for me, the Maxi prevails. I am more comfortable, more at ease. I will not hide you in a purse as I head to the bathroom. Who cares if anyone sees that it is my time of the month, let alone that I use a *gasp* Maxi Pad. To each their own, and to my own, a Maxi be.